


Pan/Bisexual Artist Types or Persians, Polyamory, and Plywood (Oh My)

by Ellis_Sullivan



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Dom/sub Undertones, F/M, Light Bondage, M/M, Multi, Polyamory, Shenanigans, for example: i love these dorks, so much love, sooooo much love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-26
Updated: 2015-02-23
Packaged: 2018-02-27 02:02:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2674727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ellis_Sullivan/pseuds/Ellis_Sullivan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They all heard Patria scratching at the door like the monster out of one of Joly’s kindergarten nightmares, meowing pitifully at the makeshift plywood door (a long, Bossuet related story) that separated the cat from her temporary master. Musichetta mumbled something, and Bossuet’s hand slid up and under Joly’s ratty t-shirt. </p><p>Joly looked to the clock on the nightstand and then to the doorway with undisguised contempt.</p><p>Somebody needed to feed the damn cat, and it looked like it was going to be him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Origin of the Cat

**Author's Note:**

> These, personally, are my visuals for Les Amis, but everyone is different! 
> 
> Musichetta: Rebecca Naomi Jones  
> Joly: Matthew Gray Gubbler  
> Bossuet: Michael B. Jordan  
> Grantaire: Louis Garrel  
> Enjorlas: Dudley O’Shaughnessy  
> Jehan: Batrek Borowiec  
> Cosette: Mindy Kaling  
> Marius: Alfie Enoch  
> Eponine: Oona Chaplin  
> Bahorel: Jason Momoa  
> Feuilly: Stefano Masciolini  
> Courfeyrac: Daniel Henney  
> Combeferre: Gaspard Ulliel  
> Patria: The cat with a lime on its head

Somebody needed to feed the damn cat.

They all heard Patria scratching at the door like the monster out of one of Joly’s kindergarten nightmares, meowing pitifully at the makeshift plywood door (a long, Bossuet related story) that separated the cat from her temporary master. Musichetta mumbled something, and Bossuet’s hand slid up and under Joly’s ratty t-shirt.

Joly looked to the clock on the nightstand and then to the doorway with undisguised contempt.

Patria meowed, her paw darting in and out the crack under the cheap wood leaning haphazardly against his doorframe.

It’s only 7:00 AM. It’s a Saturday. Patria, please, he pleaded mentally.

The cat meowed once more, and Musichetta not-so-subtly kicked Joly’s shin, her cold toes more startling than the actual attack. “Feed Enjorlas’ damn cat,” she murmured. “Then come back to bed. Bossuet and I aren’t going anywhere.”

Joly let out a groan, already missing the warmth of the bed and the feeling of his lovers’ cuddled up against him--

A pinch to his rear had him scuttling out of the sheets however, and he yelped as his barefeet made contact with the cold wood of the bedroom floor.

“Bossuet!” he spluttered. “What was that for?”

“You were dawdling,” the bald man replied with a self-satisfied grin. “Now go feed the damn cat.”

Patria meowed once more.

“Chetta--” Joly started, turning to their girlfriend for support.

“Joly. Feed the damn cat,” the woman answered as she wrangled her curls into a makeshift bun on the top of her head. “And start some coffee while you’re out there.”

Joly opened his mouth to protest and moved back toward the bed.

“I’ll pinch you again,” Bossuet warned, wiggling his fingers menacingly. “Don’t think I won’t.”

Joly whined, shuffling resentfully toward the kitchen. He pushed the plywood aside and made his way into the kitchen to retrieve the special-made, refrigerated cat food that Enjorlas had insisted upon. The young man glanced down at the cat who had followed him the fridge.

“I should ask Enjorlas to adopt me,” he told the feline. “You have a more balanced diet than I do, and I’m a human.” Patria stared back at him, unimpressed. Joly sighed and emptied the food into a dish and set it onto the tiled floor. “Bon appetit, Patria.”

She didn’t even spare him a glance, digging into her food with a refined vigor. It was as though she thought food was below her and resented the fact that she needed it to live.

No wonder Enjorlas adopted you, he thought. You’re literally the same.

~*~

No one had expected Enjorlas to actually go through with it. Their visit to the Humane Society had been on a whim, prompted by a combination of Bossuet’s whining about needing “a fucking dog in his life stat” and the overwhelming need to pet something cuddly after finals week.

Enjorlas had been under the false impression they were on their way to a soup kitchen. (This incident was one of the reasons that it was later written into the group rules that Grantaire was no longer allowed to pass on plans to anyone but Joly and Bossuet.)

“We should be going over our protest plans for this weekend,” he complained with a sharp look at R. “We should be volunteering our time at a soup kitchen, or interviewing the homeless for our newsletter--”

“Yes, but you can’t pet the homeless,” Courfeyrac replied. “Or at least it’s highly frowned upon by most people.”

“Courf--” the blonde started.

“Enj, we worked our asses off all through break to put together that free Thanksgiving dinner for those in need. We listened to you lecture at least twice a day about the injustices done to Native Americans and how we shouldn’t celebrate the day at all even though it was your idea to have the dinner,” remarked Eponine, casually studying her nails. “It’s only two weeks to Christmas and you have another enormous thing laid out for us to do. We deserve cuddles from animals.”

“A hit, a very palpable hit,” Grantaire snickered.

Enjorlas opened his mouth, but Jehan sashayed in front of him and pressed a finger to his lips.

“No rebuttals. Just cuddles,” they sing-songed with a grin.

“Now there’s a new slogan if I’ve ever heard one,” Courfeyrac said. “Adopt a dog from the Humane Society-- No rebuttals, just cuddles!”

Combeferre cracked a smile at the two and gave Enjorlas a conciliatory pat on the back.

“You’re fighting a losing battle, friend,” he said softly.

“We’re using our meeting time for this outing. Forgive me for wanting to stay on task,” the blonde sighed.

“Are you anti-animal, Enjorlas?” Cosette asked, a brow raised in silent challenge.

“What? No!” the blonde spluttered.

“Because that’s the vibe we’re getting here,” she continued. “Right Marius?”

The young man in question froze, eyes darting from Cosette’s grin and Enjorlas’ thundercloud of an expression. He sighed.

“Sorry, Enj. Going with Cosette on this one,” he said defeatedly.

“You go with Cosette on everything,” Bahorel laughed, clapping Marius on the shoulder, who stumbled forward with the force of it. Bahorel looked concerned for a brief second, but Marius gave him two thumbs up in reassurance.

“We’re burning daylight, children,” Musichetta reminded them with an air of fond exasperation. “Are we going to stand outside or are we going to look at furry creatures?”

“Onward!” Bossuet cried, fist raise in the air as he triumphantly walked into the door.

“Just so everyone knows, Bossuet was kind enough to find out for the rest of us that the doors at the Humane Society are not, in fact, automatic,” Feuilly said dryly as he gave Bossuet’s shoulder a sympathetic pat.

“C’mon, Apollo. Live a little and pet a dog,” Grantaire said cheerfully as they entered the building.

“Nothing brings people closer together than cute animals,” Courfeyrac agreed. He then immediately veered off to look at the golden retriever puppies with Jehan and Combeferre. Feuilly and Bahorel went to the small pen of rabbits, Eponine, Cosette, and Marius to the kittens, and Bossuet, Musichetta, and Grantaire had gone to look at the older dogs.

Enjorlas stood in the doorway, looking extremely uncomfortable. Joly sighed and put a friendly arm around his shoulders.

“Stop worrying so much,” he said. “It’ll only take them about an hour to get bored. That leaves you at least 30 minutes to touch base with the group.”

Enjorlas sighed and nodded sharply.

“I’m just-- I’m not a dog person,” he said, eyeing the puppies with something akin to distrust.

“Dogs aren’t the only kind of animal in the world, you know,” Joly replied with a grin. “I mean, check out this cat.” He leaned forward to examine her further. “Look at that cute little smushed up face. Can’t you just see her eating fancy tuna out of a glass dish?”

The cat regarded him with thinly veiled disdain before turning her full attention onto Enjorlas. The two locked eyes and the feline visibly relaxed a little, a soulful meow escaping it’s throat.

“There are mornings that I think I have some idea of where the day will take me,” the blonde said wryly. “Somehow I’m always wrong on those days.”

“What, you didn’t expect to enter a staring contest with a cat?” Joly giggled. Enjorlas shook his head. A faint smile made its way onto his lips as he tapped a finger lightly on the kennel.

Joly studied the blonde’s face for a moment, before examining the cat staring at Enjorlas.

“I dare you to pet her,” he said.

“What? No. No, I’m not--” Enjolras spluttered.

“I double dog dare you to,” Joly continued. “Triple dog dare. You can’t back down from that. You just can’t, Enj.”

“Joly, I’m not going to--”

“I quadruple. Dog. Dare you.”

Enjolras eyed him warily.

“Fine. Fine,” he said, reaching a hand in to gently place on the Persian’s head. The cat butted up into the light touch, a purr rumbling out of her almost instantly.

“Oh,” Enjolras said softly, surprised. “Oh.”

“She must like you,” an employee said with a grin. “She hardly ever gives anyone the time of day.”

“See, Enj?” Joly said with a shit eating grin. “You’ve already got something in common.”

By the time they left the Humane Society, Enjolras was the proud new owner of Patria the Persian Puffball. (The name was Coufeyrac’s idea. Her pink bowls and collar, however, were all Enjolras.)

~*~

“Did you feed the damn cat?” Chetta yelled, breaking Joly out of his reverie.

“I fed the damn cat,” Joly called back with a fond look aimed toward the Persian.

“Great!” Bossuet replied, sounding breathy and distracted. Joly’s eyes narrowed. He knew that tone of voice. He was intimately familiar with that tone of voice. That tone of voice had an honored place in his heart as Bossuet’s “distracted by sex” voice.

“Chetta!” he called. “You can’t make Bossuet beg before I get in the bedroom! It’s too cruel.”

“Then you better hurry up and make the damn coffee, white boy,” Musichetta replied, sounding very pleased with herself. “If you hurry, you might be able to catch the last half of the pre-show…”

As if on cue, Bossuet made a noise that could only be described as sinful.

“Ohh, you are evil, Musichetta!” Joly shouted and made coffee faster than he ever had before.


	2. The Origin of the Kink

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Remember, there are no stupid kinks,” Musichetta chirped. “Only stupid people who don’t negotiate them before hand.”

His bare feet squeaked on the tile of the kitchen as he ran back into the hallway. He squeezed himself through the tiny gap between the plywood “door” and the wall. He was greeted by the sight of Bossuet biting back pleased noises with his wrists pinned loosely above his head by one of Musichetta’s calloused hands. Her other hand was far from idle, fingers moving slowly in and out of her boyfriend.

“Ah,” Chetta breathed with a satisfied grin. “Joly found us. Say hi!”

Bossuet locked eyes with Joly and he gave him a pleading look.

“Joly, please tell our girlfriend to stop being such a-- fuck-- such a tease?” he panted, a well timed thrust from their girlfriend catching him off guard.

“Hmm,” Joly hummed, removing his baggy t-shirt before joining his lovers on their bed. “But you’re so pretty when you beg, Bossuet. Plus it’s hard to stop Chetta when she’s got her mind set on something…”

“And, boy, do I have my mind set on making you beg, babe,” their girlfriend murmured happily. Bossuet let out a helpless sound. Joly grinned and smoothed a hand up his lover’s chest, pausing to tweak a nipple before cupping his face and pulling him into a deep kiss. His other hand danced its way up to cover Musichetta’s, holding Bossuet firmly in place.

“You think you can hold him?” Chetta asked. “‘Cos I’ve got plans for our sweet boy here, Jo.”

Letting go of Bossuet’s face, Joly let Musichetta’s hand slip underneath his before holding their boyfriend down with glee.

“Oh, I’ve got him,” Joly replied with a grin. “I’ve got him right where we want him, don’t I, sweetheart?”

“Yeah,” Bossuet breathed, flexing his hands against Joly’s deceptively strong grip. “Yeah, you do…”

“And you like it where we have you, don’t you, baby?” Musichetta asked before kissing her way down to the base of Bossuet’s cock, who whimpered at the sensation. “Answer my question, baby. If you want to be our good boy, you gotta answer our questions.” She quirked an eyebrow, making it clear that she would not move an inch until Bossuet answered her.

“Yes, yeah,” the man in question bit out after a few seconds of helpless staring.

“Yes what?” the woman prompted. Her tongue darted out to lick teasingly at the tip of Bossuet’s cock. He let out a desperate noise and thrust his hips forward, searching out more of her tongue.

“Nah ah ah, baby. You gotta tell us first, hmm? Do you like where we have you?” Chetta murmured.

“Yes, yes, I like where you have me,” Bossuet groaned. “I like that I can’t get away from-- I like you keeping me here. Please, Chetta, Joly, please--”

“Good boy, sweet boy, he tries so hard for us, doesn’t he?” Joly murmured in their boyfriend’s ear, pressing hot, wet kisses to his jaw.

“And we love him for it,” Musichetta said as she found his prostate and pressed.

“Please,” Bossuet whimpered, bucking his hips. “Guys, please--”

~*~

“--just hear me out, okay? No judgy looks, no whispers, just let me say my piece, and then-- if you don’t like it-- we can laugh it off and forget it ever happened,” Bossuet said nervously, eyes darting back and forth between Musichetta and Joly. The two traded looks before nodding solemnly.

“The bedroom is a safe place, B,” Musichetta said reassuringly. “No judgement allowed.”

“Besides, all my judging privileges went out the window when I entered a polyamorous relationship with couple of pan slash bisexual artist types,” Joly added. “Most things are pretty tame compared to us.”

Bossuet smiled and Musichetta raised her finger in acknowledgement.

“Point,” she said with a smile before turning back to Bossuet. “Now that we’ve got that out of the way, what do you want to try?”

Bossuet mumbled something, looking at his hands as his cheeks went pink. Joly furrowed his brows.

“Sorry, bud, you’re gonna have to say that a bit louder,” he said sympathetically.

“Remember, there are no stupid kinks,” Musichetta chirped. “Only stupid people who don’t negotiate them before hand.”

“I want you to hold me down,” Bossuet said quickly, still looking at his hands. “Both of you. I-- I want you to be in control, you know? Dominate me. A little. Maybe. If that’s okay.”

Joly sucked in a breath at the thought of it and looked over at their girlfriend. Musichetta met his gaze with a smirk, a slight flush rising to her cheeks at the thought, before turning back to their abnormally quiet boyfriend.

“Hey, Bossuet. Babe, look at us,” their girlfriend said softly, placing a warm hand on top of his.

He looked at them.

“We didn’t make fun of you when told us you hate flushing public toilets alone. We didn’t make fun of you when you asked to get at least two hugs a night. We did not make fun of you then, and we absolutely will not make fun of you now,” she said firmly. “Okay?”

Bossuet nodded minutely

“Okay?” she repeated.

“Okay, yes, okay,” he replied, dots of red appearing high on his cheeks.

“We aren’t gonna leave because you want to be called a good boy in bed, B,” Joly told him, lacing their fingers together. “I, for one, am not opposed in the least to teasing you until you beg.”

“I’m all for that plan,” Chetta murmured, moving her hand to rest lightly on Bossuet’s knee, thumb stroking the skin bared there.

Bossuet inhaled sharply at that, a small noise caught in the back of his throat.

“...That sound good, babe?” Joly asked as he pressed a kiss to their interlaced fingers. “Because we can definitely do that. Stoplight system?”

“Yeah. Stoplight system,” Bossuet murmured, swallowing hard. “You guy’s sure it’s cool?”

“Yeah,” Musichetta said with a promise in her voice. “In fact, I for one would love to show you just how cool I am with this turn of events.”

~*~

“--fuck,” Bossuet pleaded. “Chetta, I can’t-- It’s too, ah, god your fingers--”

Chetta simply winked up Bossuet, licking one long, slow stripe up his cock.

“That’s a good start, sweetheart,” she said, fingers slowing to a tortuous pace. “But I think we all know you can do better, hmm?”

Joly hummed, pressing a kiss just below Bossuet’s ear and trailing down, mouthing at his jaw, his neck, before releasing hands with a stern look.

“Can you keep your hands in place, or do I need to help you?” he asked, and Bossuet made a desperate noise.

“I don’t-- I don’t know,” he groaned, hands jerking as Musichetta finally took the head of his cock into her mouth.

“Mm, I think you do,” Joly murmured as he smoothed a hand down the man’s chest, grinning at the whimper his touch elicited. “C’mon, sweetheart, can you be good for us? Can you keep your hand right there and let yourself come apart for us?”

Bossuet exhaled shakily and he slowly nodded. “I can, yeah. I can be-- I can be good for you,” he breathed. Joly smiled, pressing a chaste kiss to Bossuet’s chest.

“That’s our good boy,” he praised. “Now, Chetta’s been working so hard to make you feel good, hasn’t she?”

“Yes,” Bossuet whimpered as Musichetta took more of his cock into her mouth.

“And what do we say to those who make us feel good?” Joly prompted.

“Thank you,” he breathed.

“For what?” Joly asked, tweaking Bossuet’s nipple.

“For-- ah-- For making me feel good,” the man groaned, arching into the touch.

“Good boy.”

Bossuet soaked up the words of praise and made a soft noise of pleasure as a hazy smile made its way onto his face.

Musichetta hummed, her wicked mouth and wicked fingers working hard to turn their boyfriend incoherent. She slid of off Bossuet’s cock with a wet pop, and nestled her fingers against his prostate. She looked every bit at home, poised and confident, like a huntress who’d finally cornered next meal.

Bossuet, on the other hand, looked positively wrecked. He was flushed, his chest heaving and his eyes squeezed shut. His adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed and his arms flexed as he fought the urge to bring them down, to touch and tease and taste his lover’s. Musichetta made a content noise, free hand smacking her boyfriend’s ass lightly.

“You ready to beg for us yet, B?” she asked, “You must be dying to cum, right baby? Wouldn’t it feel so nice just to let go, let us take care of you? All you need to do is ask pretty, and you’ll make us so happy, baby. C’mon, sweetheart, make us happy.”

Bossuet made a tortured noise, hips bucking as he finally gave in to his lover’s desires. “Please, please take me apart,Chetta, Joly, let me be your boy, I’ll be so good, please, please please, let me be good for you--”

Joly cut him off with a deep kiss, hands covering his boyfriend’s once more. “Good, yes, Bossuet you are so good for us...” Joly praised as he broke away, nodding to Musichetta who looked impossibly pleased with his words.

“Well, then, be good for us and cum,” she murmured before taking his cock into her mouth once more, fingers moving ruthlessly within him. Joly kissed him once more, swallowing the desperate noises that came unbridled from Bossuet. His hips jerked, and he finally came.

Musichetta eased off of his cock and gently removed her fingers, contented smile settling on her face.

“Good boy,” she said, voice husky. “Our good boy.”


End file.
